Apocalypse
by BigBeans
Summary: Zombie apocalypse in the Heroes world. M3 centric. Zombies make the world go 'round. Trufax!
1. Chapter 1

April 24, 2008

"Mohinder, can people get rabies?"

Mohinder dipped his hand into the murky water of the kitchen sink, his fingers feeling for the plug. "Yes, they can. It's not a very pleasant neuroinvasive to have." He yanked the plug with a little too much vigor and ended up with dishwater on his face.

Molly threw her arm over the back of their musty couch and turned her body just enough to see Mohinder behind her. The TV flashed images behind her as a familiar knot of warm exasperation and confusion developed between her brows. "A _what?_"

Mohinder offered a self deprecating smile as he wiped his face with a kitchen towel. "A virus. It's usually seen in animals but it can be transferred to humans, usually through a bite. Why do you ask?"

"Max Grossman has rabies," Molly replied, spinning back around to face the television. She had once loved Max Grossman. Indeed, they had been the hot couple on the playground not too long ago. But that relationship ended when she spotted him sharing his gobstopper with Yuri Chu three days ago.

Mohinder spoke over his shoulder as he wiped the dishes dry. "Well, you have nothing to worry about. Rabies isn't contagious. It's not like a cold that can spread from person to person."

"_Yuri Chu," _she said the name with the utmost contempt, "has rabies too. She kissed Russ Mitchell yesterday and now he has rabies. Half the class wasn't there today because they have rabies, too."

Mohinder smiled warmly as he placed the plates into the cabinet. Sometimes he envied the imagination of children. "I think what you're talking about is a case of the spring flu. Just wash your hands frequently and you won't catch it."

"Nuh-uh!" Molly spun around, perching on her knees and peering at Mohinder from the couch. "Miss Gerber kept everybody inside at recess because she was afraid there was a nasty raccoon on the playground."

"Miss Gerber has an overzealous imagination," he said with a tone of finality. "Now go and brush your teeth. It's almost nine."

With a defeated shrug of her shoulders Molly slid off the couch and sauntered gingerly into the bathroom. She emerged a few moments later, her mouth full of froth. "Wayo's Natt?" she asked around her toothbrush.

"He's downstairs playing Scrabble with Mrs. Blackmore. He should be up shortly. He knows when your bedtime is."

Molly retreated into the bathroom, spat, washed out her mouth and reemerged into the hallway. "Doesn't she know he's dyslexic?"

Mohinder smiled with warmth. Mrs. Blackmore was a relatively new tenant in the building, an older woman, and Matt had taken an instant liking to her. He suspected a large part of that was because she was wheelchair bound. Matt's heart always went out to those in need. After spending a few days helping her settle in, Matt's affection for her became genuine. She loved to play Scrabble and Matt was always happy to oblige, despite his disability. "I suspect she already knows, but enjoys his company too much to say something about it."

Without further comment on the subject, Molly stepped up to Mohinder and wrapped her arms around his legs. She looked up at him through her lashes, her clean teeth sparkling as she smiled. "Can I stay up until he comes home? _Please?_"

Mohinder smiled and rubbed his hand through her fine hair. "I suppose. But no later than nine thirty, okay?"

"Awesome! Can we play Guess Who?" When Mohinder responded in the affirmative Molly dashed off into her room.

"_Minx," _Mohinder thought with a swell of affection.

"Brodaply isn't a word, dear."

"She's a sharp one!" Matt announced to the otherwise empty room, trying to cover his embarrassment with humour. "You don't even need a Scrabble dictionary, do you?" He chuckled to himself. Below the laughing eyes, however, he was staring at the letters on the board. They looked right to him but that didn't exactly count for much. He reached a finger down and switched a couple of the letters around.

"Dropably isn't a word either, dear." Mrs. Blackmore, Estelle to Matt, reached her weathered hand across the table and patted Matt's paw gingerly. She gave him a knowing and gentle look, inviting him to say what had remained unsaid between their Scrabble games. _'You can tell me, Matthew. It's okay.'_ When she could sense he still didn't wish to admit to his flaw she withdrew her hand. "I think we should call it a night. It's past nine and I would bet my bottom dollar that your little girl is waiting for you to tuck her in."

Matt cast his gaze away from hers, feeling the heat rise up his neck and face. He knew that she knew he had dyslexia and he knew that she couldn't care less. Openly admitting his disability, however, always brought back a flood of unpleasant memories. He'd rather not ruin such a nice evening by inviting the past in. "Did you want me to make some tea for you before I leave?" He scraped all of the tiles back into the box, glaring at his failed attempt as they tumbled in. Why was it so hard to spell 'probably' anyways?

"Tut! Matt, I can clean that up. I still have two perfectly good arms, you know. Go and say goodnight to Molly before she falls asleep."

Matt resigned with a happy sigh. "You're right. She probably begged Mohinder to stay up until I get home."

"She's a little minx, that one."

Matt stepped around the small table and planted a friendly kiss on Estelle's forehead. "Hmm. You're a little warm. Are you feeling okay?"

"I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately. Nothing a good sleep can't fix, though. Now go, Matthew! Little girls need their rest!"

"Call me if you need anything, Estelle. You have my number," Matt offered as he retreated to the door.

"Tut!" Estelle nagged as she shooed him out the door.

That was the thing he liked most about Estelle; she was a spitfire. She was wise, funny and full of stories. Sometimes when she fell asleep in his presence he simply sat by and listened to her dreams. They were always exciting and vibrant and Matt could picture in his mind a younger woman, confident in her youth, courting the handsomest boy in town. In a way, she reminded him of his own mother. Strong willed, hard working and with a sense of perseverance, no matter what life threw at her. Beneath it all, though, was a gentle, kind soul that knew exactly what to say and when to say it. It was with a supreme sense of inner peace that he felt as he tucked the covers around Molly's neck and kissed her goodnight.

* * *

April 25, 2008

"Parkman here." He answered the phone with confidence, pulling a notepad closer to him and clicking the top of his pen. A fellow officer dropped a note on his desk as she walked by.

"Mr... Parkman? Matt Parkman?" The voice on the other end was tentative, a little hesitant. The tone someone adopts when they are stalling for time.

"Yes sir, what can I do for you?"

"Molly Walker is your daughter?"

Matt blanched and leaned forward over the desk. He himself had adopted that same tone of voice when he had to tell families that a loved one had been seriously hurt or killed. Dark scenarios began playing in his mind but he cast them aside quickly. He cleared his throat. "Yes, she is. Who's calling?"

There was a gasp of revelation on the other end of the line. The voice returned with a renewed confidence. "Mr. Parkman, of course! I'm sorry, the last name threw me off. This is principal Tucker from Molly's school."

Matt rolled his head towards the ceiling in annoyed relief. "Yes, we've met. Is everything okay with Molly?"

"Well...no, not exactly."

"What do you mean? Is she hurt?"

"Well, no."

"Is she missing?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

"Then what?" Matt barked, his patience growing thin. He had met Mr. Tucker before and he couldn't say that he liked the man. He was a rather spineless creature.

"Molly had an...altercation with another student." He paused, considering how to continue. "I'm afraid she punched a fellow student, one Allan Danter, in the nose. The nurse said it might be broken."

"He bit me!" Matt could hear Molly cry. She didn't sound upset or scared. She sounded indignant, as if the charges against her were bogus.

"That's no reason to hit another pupil, missy! The Danters aren't going to be pleased with you!" Tucker snapped back.

"I'll...I'll be there as soon as I can. There are a few things I need to take care of first."

"Of course, of course. Please hurry." The other line went dead as Tucker hung up the phone.

Matt took a moment to look around his desk. He was swimming in paperwork, he had an interview in two hours and Fuller had left him three memos to see him as soon as possible. Something urgent. He couldn't afford wasting time at the school right now. He rubbed a hand across his face and leaned back in his chair. "Shit."

"_It was a silly mistake. You should forgive her."_

Mrs. Danter's face slowly transformed from an indignant scowl to a pleasant smirk. She turned to her husband and placed a hand on his chest. "Honey, it was a silly mistake. We should forgive her."

And that was that. Matt hated using his ability like this but he just didn't have the time to sit here and bicker back and forth about accountability and medical bills. Molly was, of course, suspended for three days for violence on school grounds, but it was a much more acceptable sentence than the expulsion the Danters were demanding.

Matt took Molly's hand and led her out of the principal's office and through the hallways in silence. Beside him, Molly's thoughts were a mixture of incredulity at being suspended and mortal fear of Matt's reaction. She had never done anything that warranted a major punishment before. The thought of Matt and Mohinder being angry with her upset her to the point where tears began to well in her eyes. _'They're going to hate me!'_

Matt let go of her hand and placed his own between her shoulder blades, leading her towards his car with more gentleness. He was angry, yes, but he didn't want her upset. He opened the passenger door of his for her and she climbed in unceremoniously. They sat in silence for a few minutes after Matt stepped in, Molly's thoughts growing increasingly erratic with worry.

"All right, spill," Matt finally demanded. He turned in his seat towards her and put on a deliberately neutral face. It wasn't comforting, but it wasn't threatening either.

"He bit me so I punched him!"

"I gathered that much, Mols. Why did he bite you?"

"I don't know!" She was visibly upset now, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting out her lower lip.

Oh, screw it. He was never any good at being the authoritative one. Mohinder was the one who set the boundaries, he was the one who broke them. Matt reached across the stick shift and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Mols, it's okay. Just calm down and tell me what happened, okay? We'll go from there."

Molly took a brief moment to compose herself before diving into her story. "We were playing Red Rover at recess. I was on a team with Mary, Allan, Elliot and Beth. Elliot and Beth had to be in the middle because they are the strongest. I didn't want to hold hands with Allan because he said he wasn't feeling very good, but Mary just broke up with him yesterday so it would be too weird if she was holding his hand again. We called Grace over and everybody was gripping tight except Allan. He was like a wet noodle, Matt! I told him to hold on tighter because Grace was running for us. And then he bit me! Look!"

Molly pulled back her sleeve and thrust her arm in front of Matt. Her forearm was wrapped in gauze, which Matt thought was totally unnecessary. He unwrapped the bandage without much preamble and examined the wound. It was swollen and there were definitely some teeth marks, but the skin hadn't been broken. "Wow, he bit you really hard. It must have hurt."

"Yuh-huh! So I punched him but I didn't really mean to I just kind of did are you mad?"

"Nah, I'm not mad. I thought I taught you better than to hurt other people, though."

Molly just cast her gaze to the floor and hung her head as Matt started the car and rolled out of the parking lot. "You're going to have to spend the rest of the day at the station. I have too much work to take you home and find a babysitter, and you know as well as I do that Mohinder is up to his ears in research. I'll ask Estelle if she can watch you for the next couple of days. No TV while you're there, though. No comic books, no computer and no phone. You'll do whatever she asks you to, you hear?"

Molly silently resigned herself to Matt's punishment. As the drove in silence through the streets of New York, something kept tugging at Matt's mind. He felt like something was off, like a piece of the puzzle was missing. It wasn't until they were stopped at a red light that he noticed what was bothering him."Did you change your shirt, Mols?"

Molly shook her head somberly, a pout still present on her lips. "No. I didn't bring an extra shirt. It's getting too warm for extra shirts."

"You must have hit him pretty hard to break his nose, huh?"

Molly grimaced. "Yeah. I even heard it crack. It was so gross. I felt really bad after I did it."

Matt pressed his foot on the accelerator as the light turned green. He cast a sideways glance at Molly as he drove, specifically eying the cuff of her sweater. "Must have been a lot of blood if you heard it crack. You were probably grossed out."

Molly shrugged. "He didn't even bleed. He just kind of stood there looking stupid. He was probably embarrassed that he got hit by a girl."

"So you broke his nose, and he didn't even bleed?"

"Nope. It's probably because his nose is full of boogers."

"Huh."

* * *

April 26, 2008

"I want to go back to school," Molly whined as she pushed the broccoli around her plate. "And I don't like broccoli."

"Well, you're going to eat it. It's good for you. Makes you strong so you can punch all the boys at school." To emphasize his point, Matt stabbed the largest piece of broccoli on his plate and shoved it into his mouth. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she giggled around her mashed potatoes.

"Matt, we're not encouraging that sort of behaviour. You shouldn't make it out to be some sort of joke. She hit another student and it's unacceptable." Mohinder fixed them both with a stare that dared them to defy his authority.

"Oh, Mohinder, of course I'm not encouraging it. We had a talk about it and she won't do it again, right?"

"Right!" Molly echoed, nibbling at the stem of her broccoli.

"Seriously, though, why the heck would you _want_ to go back to school? You got three days off with Estelle. You should be having a blast."

Molly shrugged, shaking the broccoli off of her fork with a grimace. "She's boring. She just kind of sat there all day and did nothing. I asked if she wanted to play I Spy and she fell asleep. Talk about rude."

"Molly!" Mohinder admonished, "she's an old lady. She doesn't have the energy to keep up with ten year old girls anymore."

"Old shmold! We've met the same Estelle, right? She's a firecracker! She probably fell asleep because you were talking about boring things, like kissing boys."

"Gross, Matt! Boys have cooties."

"Max Grossman didn't have cooties, did he?" Matt teased, poking her in the side playfully. Molly blushed and Mohinder rolled his eyes with good humour. "Seriously, though. Estelle said that she was coming down with something. Probably a spring flu."

"I don't want to get sick!" She let out a little gasp of horror. "Oh my god, does she have rabies?"

Mohinder let out an exasperated grunt. "She doesn't have rabies, Molly. The only animal she's been near for weeks is Matt."

"Ouch, doc."

"It's _Mohinder."_

"Doc," Matt said with finality. He turned to Molly, who was still deciding whether broccoli was actually edible or not. "I'll tell you what. Before I go to work tonight I'll check in with Estelle. If she's not feeling well I'll get you a different sitter, okay?" Molly nodded and Matt raised his index finger "But only on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Eat your broccoli."

Later that night, as promised, Matt checked in with Estelle before his night shift. "Estelle?" Matt pushed her apartment door open tentatively. She had given him the key to her apartment and invited him to drop in any time, but it still made him acutely uncomfortable to do so. After he had been knocking for a good sixty seconds with no answer he had slid the key into her doorknob. "Estelle, are you here?" Matt felt along the wall by the door and flicked on flicked the switch up. The room flooded with light and revealed the carnage of the room. Guess Who cards were spread across the floor, crayons lay beside their box on the coffee table and there was a half empty glass of orange juice. Molly had certainly been here.

"Matthew?" Estelle's voice croaked from the kitchen. "Matthew, is that you?"

Matt tiptoed his way through the mess towards the kitchen, seething with annoyance. Molly knew better than to leave her things lying around, especially considering Estelle's condition. He poked his head around the corner and found Estelle's wheelchair parked at the kitchen table. There was a full bowl of soup to her left, but there was no steam rising off. "Estelle, hi. I'm sorry about the mess Molly made she knows better than to leave her things lying around."

"Oh, tut, Matthew!" Estelle chided, waving her hand at him dismissively. "She wanted to clean her mess up, but I told her to run along when Mohinder came home. She promised that she would clean it up tomorrow when she comes over. That girl is a real pistol, Matt." She rolled towards him and issued a contented sigh. "She reminds me of myself when I was younger. Always curious. Unafraid to ask questions. You're doing right by her."

Matt acknowledged the praise gratefully and moved on to the reason why he stopped by. "About tomorrow. Molly said that you weren't feeling too well today. I told her that if you weren't up to the task I would find another sitter."

"Oh, Matthew. You're too thoughtful, checking in on me like this. I just feel a little under the weather, that's all." _'If only I were thirty years younger..'_

Matt couldn't help but chuckle at her errant thought. "It's my pleasure, Estelle." He peered over her shoulder at the soup bowl on the kitchen table. "Thought you would have some soup to make you feel better, huh? Why eat it in the dark?"

Estelle's face flushed. "When I made it, it was still light out. I'm afraid I fell asleep before I could enjoy it. It's probably cold as ice now."

Matt's brow knotted in concertation as he stepped towards her. Now that she had wheeled into the light of the living room he could see just how haggard she looked. He placed the back of his hand across her forehead and frowned. "Estelle, you're burning up."

"Nothing a good night of rest can't fix. Stop fussing, Matthew. I've got more fight in me than you might imagine. Now off to work with you. You don't want to be late."

A quick glance to his watch told him that she was right. "I'll check in on you in the morning. If your fever hasn't gone down I'm going to take you to the hospital. And no complaints," he interjected as she started to retort, "you don't have a say in the matter."

Estelle smiled and conceded. "If you think it would be best for me then I will put my faith in you, Matthew. I'll see you in the morning, then, yes?"

"I'll bring bagels," Matt replied, planting a familiar kiss on her forehead. He strode from the apartment with confidence and a spring in his step. It wasn't often that somebody put such faith in him, and it felt good to be needed.

Estelle watched with resigned contentedness as Matt retreated into the hallway. A shy smile crept onto her lips, a smile that she remembered well from when she was a young girl and courted all the boys. "That boy. Tut."

* * *

April 27, 2008

Holly Chalmers, a fellow officer with the NYPD, poked her head into Matt's office. "Parkman, we need your help. We're getting swamped with calls."

Midnight had come and gone without much trouble. There were a few cases of drunkards making a scene, but the night had been rather slow. As the night dragged on, however, calls began to trickle in. Case after case of assault and vandalism were being called in at an exponential rate. Half the squadron were already out on the streets and the rest were preparing themselves for deployment. Matt, however, was stuck behind his bench. He was a detective now. Subduing drunkards and arresting brawlers weren't part of the job description anymore. Even though the detective job paid better and was certainly more fulfilling, sometimes he longed to be a beat cop again. That's why, when they called for his help, he was eager to please.

"Sure, what do you need from me?"

Holly eased into the room and ran a hand through her fine brown hair. "I hate to ask you this, but can you man the phones? There's a riot or something going on downtown and we're running low on available cops."

"A riot?"

"Yeah. A bunch of people just started attacking others. We think it might be a racial thing, but we don't know for sure. We're just trying to get the crowd under control right now."

"Don't you think I would be better suited out in the field? Have McGee man the phones."

Chalmers laughed. "McGee? He's a pushover. The people calling are going to be angry and scared. You're good with people, Parkman. You know what to say."

That's how Matt found himself sitting in the center of a circle of phones, each of them refusing to be silenced. Two hours later, the station was practically empty but the calls kept pouring in. Violence, aggression, assault, vandalism. What struck him as odd about the whole fiasco was the structure of the violence. In his experience, riots usually consisted of two opposing forces, be it sports rivals or racial groups. In this instance, however, each call was unique. Every assault seemed random. There weren't any words exchanged between the assaulter and the victim; just the violence. It was strange, yes, but he didn't have time to ponder the oddity of this riot. The phones were still ringing.

"New York Police Department, Brooklyn precinct. Parkman here."

"Matt!" The voice on the other end was familiar, marred only by the panic in his voice. "Thank God you're okay!"

"Mohinder? What are you doing?" A jolt of fear raced through his body. Had the rioters already made it to Union Street? "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine. You must turn on the news, Matt."

"I don't have any time to turn on the news, Mohinder. If it's about the riot, I already know. They have me manning the phones and the calls won't stop coming in. I can't talk to you right now."

"Matt, wait!"

"Mohinder, I have to go! I'll be home at eight. Lock the doors and don't answer any knocks without looking through the peephole, okay? Bye."

"Matt--!"

Matt hung up the phone and moved on to the next caller.

Matt was relieved of his phone duties at dawn. A fresh batch of officers were starting their shifts, unaware of the insanity that awaited them. From the incidents of aggression that were being called in, it seemed as though the riot, or whatever one wanted to call it, wasn't moving in to one specific location. It was stemming out in all directions, spreading like wildfire in a concrete jungle. The incident reports still had the mass of violence several miles away from home, which was the first bit of good news Matt had had all night.

Rather jaded by the night's work, Matt didn't bother sticking around to help with the situation. He was tired and grumpy and wanted nothing more than to escape back to his family. He donned his leather jacket and left the station in a foul mood, a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. His cellphone had several messages, all from Mohinder, but he didn't bother to check them. He would be home in a few minutes, anyways. Thankfully, the drive home wasn't as bad as it tended to be. There were a few pedestrians wandering around the streets, some looking rather worse for wear, and the streets were pretty clear.

_'People probably heard about the riot and decided to stay in' _Matt mused as he turned into the parking garage below his apartment building. The sound of the car door shutting and the thump of his footsteps echoed eerily through the quiet garage. The moment he stepped inside the building, a feeling of peace washed over him. Home was a sacred place for Matt. It was full of love, friendship, camaraderie and peace and he refused to bring his work, and any associated moods, home with him. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. Then, before the elevator could get too far, pressed the button for the fourth floor. Estelle - he had promised that he would check in on her in the morning.

_'Damn, I forgot the bagels,'_ Matt chided himself as the elevator came to a stop with a worrying squeal. He walked briskly to Estelle's room and knocked on the door lightly. It was hard enough to hear if one was awake, but not hard enough to wake somebody if they were sleeping. No answer. He knocked again and was rewarded with the same result. After fishing in his pocket for a moment, he extracted his set of keys, selected the one for Estelle's apartment and opened the door.

The room was dark, the gray dawn floating in from the window the only light in the room. Estelle was there by the window, looking out at the world below. Even from the doorway, Matt could tell her breathing had gotten a little ragged. "Morning, Estelle," he called across the room as he unraveled Mohinder's tacky scarf from around his neck. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

Estelle didn't answer. She continued to stare out the window. It might have been the dim light of the early dawn, but her skin rather pale, almost gray. It was as he walked around the coffee table that Matt noticed something on the window that disturbed him. Dots. Small, round droplets, some of which had rolled down the surface of the glass and pooled on the sill. Blood. Had she been coughing blood? Matt rushed across the room and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. "Estelle!"

It was at that moment that Matt Parkman's life began to fall apart. With an energy that he didn't think possible for an elderly woman, Estelle spun her head to the side and clamped her teeth firmly over Matt's forearm. From her throat issued a sound like that of a cat whose tail had been yanked too hard. "Estelle! Fuck, Estelle! What the hell are you doing?" Matt cried, more in fear than in any real pain. The leather jacket he had on protected his skin from any direct contact, but he could certainly feel the pressure of her teeth as they sunk down into his flesh.

Estelle stared at Matt with wide, dead eyes. He would have expected some anger with such a ferocious attack, but her features were completely emotionless, as if this were instinct rather than fear. Matt tried yanking his arm out of her teeth, but only ended up dragging her wheelchair a small distance. In doing so, the chair had spun around just enough so that Estelle's arms were now in reach of Matt's body. Her gangly arms reached for him and she began scratching at his chest, searching for the flesh beneath. "Estelle, let go!" Matt pressed the base of his palm against Estelle's forehead, pushing her head back as he pulled his captured arm in the opposite direction. This proved to be much more effective. His arm popped out of her mouth and her clamping jaws snapped shut. Matt quickly backed away from her, stumbling over some of Molly's toys. Estelle hissed and screeched and reached for him, lunging forward in her wheelchair. He retreated into the hallway, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.

"Jesus. Jesus _fucking _Christ! Damn it!" Matt slammed the side of his fist against the wall, his chest heaving with fear and exertion. What the hell was wrong with her? Why on Earth would a kindly old woman like Estelle attack him like that? It had to be her illness. He knew she was feeling under the weather. Maybe it was more serious than he had thought possible. Maybe it wasn't the flu at all. Maybe it was some sort of weird brain parasite that was affecting her behaviour. He needed to get her to a hospital!

Matt rushed to the nearest stairwell and raced up two flights of stairs. He burst into the hallway and ran to his apartment. Assuming that the door would be unlocked, Matt turned the knob and pushed forward. Instead of the door swinging open, his body slammed against the wood with a thud. Mohinder took his advice after all. "Shit," he mumbled as he shakily rifled through his key chain. Before he could find the right key, the door opened. Mohinder stood there, wide eyed and scared.

"Thank _God _you're okay Matt! We were worried you'd--"

"We need to get Estelle to a hospital, _now_!" Matt interrupted, pushing his way into the apartment. He began searching. For what, he didn't know, but the method of looking was calming his nerves.

"Have you seen the news, Matt?" Mohinder asked with urgency.

"I don't _care_ about the news, Mohinder! Estelle's really sick and we need to get her to a hospital." Matt barked, spinning towards his roommate.

"She's sick? What do you mean she's sick?" Mohinder, realizing that the door was still open, hurried over and set the lock.

"I _mean_, I went over to her place to check on her and she tried to attack me. _That's_ what I mean, Mohinder!"

"_She's infected. Dear God."_

"She's what? She's infected? With what?" Matt asked.

"Matt, I really think you should look at the news." Mohinder's voice carried such a calculating calmness that Matt finally caved. He glanced over at the television and was surprised to see that Molly was already up. She was standing beside the TV, staring at him with frightened eyes, her cheeks shining with drying tears. It wasn't, however, her distraught face that was holding his attention. On the screen beside her, written in bold, red letters a headline that sent a chill down his spine: Infection Rampant, Apocalypse in New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

April 27, 2008

"I told Mohinder people could get rabies!" Molly chirped from beside the television. She used the back of her hand to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks, hoping that she could wipe away the shame of crying in the process. She hated seeming weak in front of Matt and Mohinder because they were always so strong. Even now, Mohinder looked calm and composed in spite of what was being reported on the news.

"Rabies? What do you mean, rabies?" Matt questioned. To Molly, his voice sounded interested, probing, rather than panicked or scared.

"It's not rabies," Mohinder replied as he stepped away from the door and into their small kitchen. "And the word 'apocalypse' may be a little dramatic at this point." He reached into the cupboard above the sink and pulled out a teapot with the image of Kali painted on. "Let me make a pot of tea. It will help calm our nerves so we can discuss what has happened."

"I don't have time for tea," Matt cut in. Although there was a certain urgency in his voice, he made no move toward the door. "Estelle needs my help. I'm not going to sit here and have tea if--"

Mohinder help up a hand and fixed Matt with a stern look, demanding silence. "Estelle is beyond help, Matt. There's nothing you can do for her right now. Trust me. Take a seat and let me explain to you what has happened."

Matt fell silent, offering neither acceptance nor rebuke of Mohinder's offer. He did, however, slowly lower himself into one of the rickety kitchen chairs. His face was a oddly blank and his eyes seemed unfocused, but Molly could almost hear the gears turning in his head. To Molly, it seemed as though he had reached an upsetting conclusion and was trying to sort through the consequences. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with. She padded across the small living room into the adjoining kitchen and wordlessly climbed into his lap, throwing an arm around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder, offering silent comfort. Matt wrapped his arms effortlessly around her small frame and pressed her to his chest.

Mohinder removed the kettle from the stove when it began to whistle and prepared three cups. "Chamomile," he said, sliding two of the mugs across the table. "It helps calm the nerves." He waited for a few moments, allowing Matt to take a couple of sips before beginning his report. Preamble was an unneeded distraction so Mohinder dove right into his account. "They're calling it rabies on the news, but I know that to be wrong. While animals can be overly aggressive if they contract rabies, humans don't. It can be fatal if not diagnosed, but the symptoms run along the lines of fever and sore throats."

"The phones at the station wouldn't stop ringing last night," Matt added, placing the first piece of the puzzle into position. "Almost every call that I got had to do with some sort of violence."

"Exactly. I would call the news station and tell them of their mistake, but I have no alternative to give. If not rabies, then what? I've never seen symptoms like this before. I'm not a medical doctor, I know, but I do get a scientific newsletter every week. The people who have this infection have symptoms similar to Pica, but people with Pica aren't known to be aggressive. Moreover, I have never heard of a person with Pica wanting to feed on the flesh of other human beings."

Molly whimpered into Matt's shoulder and made an effort to hide her left forearm where the teethmarks from Allan Danter were still swollen. Matt gave her an automatic squeeze, but his attention was strictly for Mohinder. "They _what? _Eat flesh?"

Perhaps sensing Matt's incredulity at the suggestion, Mohinder posed a question. "You said that when you visited Estelle that morning she attacked you. What did she attack you with? A stick? A pan?"

Matt inhaled sharply and blanched. "Her teeth. She tried to bite me. She got a mouthful of leather, but she was trying to get at my skin. And Mohinder..." He trailed off, a knot developing between his brows. "She didn't have any thoughts."

Mohinder sat up a little straighter. "She didn't have thoughts? What do you mean?"

"I mean just that. She had no thoughts in her head. When she bit me I tried to get a read on her, but I got nothing. Just silence, like her mind was blank. I didn't really notice at the time, because I was trying to get my arm out of her mouth, but I remember as clear as day now."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. I thought maybe she bit me because she thought I was an intruder, but she wasn't panicking, she wasn't crying for help. She didn't even think 'Matt would taste good with meat sauce'. She was blank, hollow." He paused to add emphasis to his point. "Mohinder, you should have seen her face. It was empty." Matt shifted Molly's weight from one knee to the other, his grip on her torso tightening. "She didn't look afraid, she didn't look angry. It was like all she wanted was to take a chunk of my skin and that's it."

Mohinder's face held a sharp interest. "So...what are you saying?"

Matt spread his hands. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you what happened." He was about to add more when a deep voice came from the television.

"_And now ladies and gentlemen, a representative of New York, Nathan Petrelli."_

The trio turned from the table and looked at the television as the image of Nathan Petrelli faded into view. Molly slid off of Matt's lap and hurried over the the TV, turning up the volume just as Nathan began his speech.

"_My fellow Americans,"_ he began, adopting a presidential tone, "_as many of you may already know, there has been a recent increase in the incidents of violence in our city. In the past twelve hours the police have reported a two hundred percent spike in these cases of physical aggression. People who have no prior record of violence, people who have otherwise been peaceful are suddenly lashing out at family, friends and strangers. At first we were confused as to why the good citizens of New York were turning on one another. We have, however, come to understand the reason for this aggression." _Petrelli paused, giving his audience a moment to absorb the information. "_They're calling it an infection. A virus that can be transfers from one host to another, resulting in aggressive and violent behavior. The most logical conclusion at this point is the rabies virus. I assure you, though, that there is no need to panic. I've called in specialists from across the country to help us with this situation, and I am confident that it will be resolved soon. Until then I would advise all of you to take extra precautions when outside of your home. Stay tuned to your local station for more information. Thank you." _Petrelli's face faded from view and was replaced by the regular newscasters of that channel.

"How can you have a specialist for something that hasn't been in existence before?" Mohinder asked, his voice thick with disgust. "Petrelli knows just as well as I do that this isn't rabies. I think he knows more than he's letting on."

"Me too," Matt agreed, chewing on his thumb with concentration. "Nathan Petrelli doesn't get flustered, ever. He's cool, calm and deals with bad news with practicality." Matt shook his head slightly, looking disturbed. "But he was sweating like a pig. His eyes, they were darting all over the place, like he was looking for a way out. His voice was a little shaky. Something bigger is going on."

Molly was about to add her two cents when the phone began to ring. As was tradition in their household, Molly hurried over and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hello? I-Is Parkman, erm, is Matt there?" The voice on the other end was panicked, shaky.

"Just a second." Molly turned to Matt and held the phone out in front of her. "It's for you."

Matt cast a brief look at Mohinder before pushing himself away from the table and walking over to Molly. He took the phone from her and pressed it to his ear. "H'lo?"

"Parkman? Parkman! Fucking...can you believe this shit?" He placed the voice as Holly Chalmers', one of only two female officers at his station. "Listen. I...I need you to come back to the station, okay? Everybody is gone. They're either out dealing with this shit or they're in the hospital because those...fucking..._things _bit them." She took a shaky breath in an effort to compose herself. "Can you just come down, please? I'm, like, freaking out a little here and you're the only person who I knew to call."

"Of course," Matt replied instantly. He knew Holly well enough to know that she thrived on pressure. She was her best in tense situations. So he knew that if she was panicking she must truly be overwhelmed. "Just sit tight, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can." He hung up the phone and was immediately met with an accusatory stare from Mohinder.

"You can't _leave_," Mohinder said with incredulity, folding his arms across his chest.

"Holly needs my help, of course I can leave," Matt fired back.

"It's dangerous out there, Matt. You heard what Nathan said, these people are violent in random patterns. You could be injured by one of them. Last the news said, at least twenty-one people have already died because of injuries they've sustained by these people. You could be killed."

Matt fixed Mohinder with a hard stare. "Molly, go to your room," he hissed between his teeth.

"What? What did I do?"

"Nothing. You didn't do anything wrong, I just need to talk with Mohinder for a second," Matt replied, keeping his gaze locked with Mohinder's.

Molly pouted at not being included in the adult conversations, but obeyed Matt's wishes and disappeared into her bedroom.

Matt approached Mohinder slowly, an annoyed scowl on his face. "Don't talk like that in front of Molly," Matt warned with menace. "She doesn't need to hear your doomsday crap."

"Molly's old enough to hear what the consequences of foolish actions are, however bad they may be," Mohinder countered, his voice thick with acridity.

"Molly is eleven years old, Mohinder!" Matt whispered fiercely, throwing his arms in the air beside him. "She's scared enough as it is. She doesn't need all your yabber jabber about how I'm going to die. You don't know what kind of thoughts she's having right now."

"Is that the only way you know Molly, then? By reading her thoughts? She's grown up considerably right before your eyes and you've missed it because you spend all your time inside her head. You don't look at her actions, Matt! Yes, she's scared! Of course she's scared, but look at how she's handling it! How she _acts_ speaks volumes more about her than what she _thinks_."

Matt blinked, momentarily dazed by Mohinder's attack. It felt as thought Mohinder had reached into his chest and stuck pins into his heart, sending shocks of painful revelation through his system. "I..." he stumbled for words as he stepped away from Mohinder. "I, uh..."

Mohinder's face grew considerably gentler at the sight of Matt's pain. "The fact is, Matt, that she needs you. I need you. _We _need you to protect us. I don't know exactly what's happening out there but I think it's safe to assume that it's worse than Nathan says it is. I have a feeling that things are going to get worse before they get better and we need you around if that happens."

Although his heart suddenly swelled at this admission, Matt's mind was set. "I'll be careful, I promise. I'll go, see what's up and try to calm her down," he said as he pulled his pistol from its holster. "I still don't think anything is going to happen, but take this just in case it does. I'll call when I get there." He pressed the gun into Mohinder's hand and turned away before he could present another argument about the foolishness of his action.

Matt left the apartment in a depressed huff, whatever happiness he had this morning sucked away by Mohinder's scathing words. Was he really so distant with Molly? He had thought he was doing a good job parenting her. Better than what his father gave him, anyways. He chose to descend the stairs rather than take the elevator, hoping the physical activity would help him sort his garbled mind. He stopped on the fourth floor and approached Estelle's apartment, listening intently for her thoughts. He wasn't surprised when he was met with silence.

He continued his descent, offering a friendly greeting to another tenant of the apartment. She seemed to be calm. Maybe she just hadn't heard the news yet; it had all happened so fast. He wouldn't be surprised if half of New York was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the growing epidemic that was consuming their city. He entered the parking garage with caution and walked quickly to his car.

The drive to the station was distinctly uneventful, mostly because the number of people walking the streets grew less and less dense as he drove deeper into Brooklyn. This lack of citizens was the only difference in the familiar drive to work. There was no wreckage, no carnage, no blood. Maybe all of this hullabaloo about infection was just a lot of noise. The news had a strong tendency to sensationalize everything. Yes, there had been a spike in the amount of violence, but that was surely due to some other variable. Infection didn't seem entirely plausible to him. Matt pulled into the parking lot behind the station and found a spot with ease. Everybody was either out dealing with this new situation or, according to Holly, in the hospital getting treatment. It was with a facade of calm that Matt entered the station.

"Parkman! Thank God you're here," Holly exclaimed the moment he passed through the doorway. She wrung her hands as she approached, her chestnut brown hair flying out of its pins. "I can't fucking _believe_ this shit, Parkman! I'm not even answering the phones anymore. I unplugged them because, I mean, there's no point if nobody is here to respond right? I don't want to be telling people that there is a cruiser coming when there are no cruisers to go because then they would just be sitting on their ass doing nothing waiting for us to come and help them instead of doing something themselves, right? If I tell them that there isn't any police left then--"

"Holly!" Matt said, raising his voice above her frantic ranting. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and bent down slightly so he could look her in the eyes. "Calm down. You're not making a lot of sense right now."

"Fuck calm! _Fuck calm, _Parkman!" She pushed away from him and stepped quickly over to her disorganized desk. "I'm _freaking out_! Do you even know what's going on?"

"I do. I saw the news this morning." He conveniently forgot to mention his encounter with Estelle. "Listen, people are making this out to be a lot bigger than it actually is. I just drove all the way here and I didn't see one rioter. There wasn't a single knocked over garbage can or a broken window. The news--"

"Is full of shit!" Holly cut in, rifling through some papers on her desk. She paused a moment and took a calming breath before handing a file to Matt. "Before I yanked the phone out of the wall, I got a call from some military or special ops guy or something. I don't even know and I don't really care right now. He asked to speak to the person of highest authority. I told him that I was the only person at the station. He didn't sound too pleased to hear that. Anyways, he said he was going to fax over some critical information about what was going on. He told me that the city was going under quarantine."

"Quarantine?" Matt's voice rose with incredulity. "You don't put an entire city under quarantine because of a virus. Especially one the size of New York."

"Exactly, Parkman. Read the file."

Matt took a seat at the nearest desk and opened the folder. The first page of the file was a picture of a corpse lying in the grass of what looked like Central Park. It was a man, middle forties perhaps, with a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead. What was strange about the picture was the lack of blood. Even though he would suspect this victim died instantly from the wound, there still should be a pool of blood around his head. There should be splatter on his face and clothes. Instead, there were chunks of what seemed like coagulated blood on the victim's forehead and on the grass.

"Was this guy shot after he was dead?" Matt asked, looking up from the folder.

"Yes," Holly replied. Her tone implied something more than the simple answer.

"I don't get it."

"Just read."

Matt lowered his head to the folder once more and turned the picture over, moving on to the next page. This one was an official looking letter with a crest Matt didn't recognize in the corner. Although his dyslexia hindered him somewhat, Holly was patient as he read.

* * *

_Detective Bryan Fuller,_

_We have been notified of the recent outbreak of violence and have been asked by Representative Petrelli to intervene. After only a few hours of investigation we have decided to put the city of New York under immediate quarantine. An incident with similar incidents of random violence was reported six months ago in Hartford, Connecticut. Find attached a full report of our actions in Hartford. Also find attached a detailed analysis of what we call 'the Infected'._

_What these people are I'm afraid is difficult to both explain and understand. The people who contract this virus will inevitably die from it. Symptoms before death can be described as flu-like. Feeling tired, high temperature, lack of energy. The infected individual will eventually die from this virus. It is only after the victim's death in which they become truly dangerous. This virus remains in the victim's body postmortem and revitalizes certain areas of the brain, as well as the central nervous system. The infected individual returns from the dead, in a sense, but in an altered form. They have virtually no intelligence and function on only one instinct; the need to feed. That is why there has been a violent spike in your rates of violence over the past few hours. These infected individuals have been looking for their next meal, mostly in the form of human flesh, although they have been known to attack animals as well. Why they prefer living flesh, or flesh at all, still remains a mystery._

_From what we have observed, the behavior patterns of the Infected vary greatly. Some are rather docile, simply standing or walking about and are only dangerous if one decides to approach them. These have come to be known as Type III. The other two variants are much more dangerous. Both Type II and Type I infected individuals actively seek out their victims, but Type II individuals are generally slow, moving at no more than a walking pace. A Type I infection is the most dangerous. Like Type II, they actively seek out their next meal, but unlike Type II, they are quick and extremely aggressive. We have yet to understand why there are variants of the infection._

_The most effective way to deal with these individuals is to damage either the spinal cord or brain beyond repair. Let me reassure you that these people are indeed already dead. They are nothing but a corpse who is threatening the lives of others and should be dealt with accordingly. Shooting one, or severing one's spinal cord, should not bring shame or guilt. The Infected have no sense of morality anymore and will stop at nothing to secure their next meal. They are extremely dangerous and should be terminated on sight._

_The mode of contraction is still under investigation but we are led to believe that it is through being bitten or a direct mixing of the bodily fluids that transferrers the virus from host to host. If you know anybody who has been bitten or who is exhibiting these flu-like symptoms, it is in your best interest to lock them in a secure location until it can be determined if they simply have the flu or if they are truly infected._

_All major routes out of the city have been blockaded. Stations have been set up to scan individuals for the virus. If they are healthy then they may leave the city until the situation has been resolved. Needless to say, these blockades will soon be crowded with the entire population of New York __trying to escape. As the police, it will be your duty to maintain order among the crowds. Find attached locations of all city blockades._

_I urge you to take immediate and necessary action if you are to encounter infected individuals._

_Robert Priestly_

* * *

Matt lowered the paper, a stupid grin on his lips and a skeptical arch to his eyebrows. "Zombies? You want me to believe that New York City is being overrun by zombies? Holly, I know you're a little overwhelmed, but this is clearly a hoax." A flash of Estelle in her current state flickered in Matt's mind, but he decided that skepticism was the course of action right now.

Holly nodded briskly and leaned towards him. "That's what I thought at first to. About a half hour before I called you, Palmer radioed in that McGee was being taken to the hospital because one of those fuckers bit him. McGee fucking _died, _Parkman, from a bite that should have only needed a few stitches." Seeing the doubtful look on Matt's face, Holly went on the defensive. "I'm not lying, Matt, and I'm not as gullible as you might think I am. I thought this whole living dead thing was a crock, but then Palmer radioed in again. He said that even though all the monitors and shit that were still attached to McGee said he had no pulse or brain activity, McGee got out of bed and started attacking one of the nurses. Doesn't that fit the bill of what this Priestly guy is saying? I mean, how do you explain that?"

Matt spread his hands in front of him, void of any logical answer. Was it really so crazy? A year and a half ago it certainly would have been. Since then, a whole new world of possibilities, or more accurately, impossibilities, was opened to him. Mind reading, radiation emitting, future painting. They all seemed like completely illogical impossibilities, but yet they were true. The world was changing, evolving, and who was to say that this viral outbreak wasn't a quirk in human evolution? The sound of the station door opening tore Matt away from these thoughts.

Both he and Holly looked away from each other and towards the sound of the noise. A man with a blooming bloodstain on his shoulder had entered, a wild look in his eyes. He turned immediately towards Matt and Holly and began approaching. The two officers exchanged apprehensive looks before Holly took the initiative to address the man.

"Sir," she began tentatively, "your shoulder looks like it's been injured. Did you need a ride to the hospital?"

There was no comprehensible answer, just a gurgling from deep within the man's throat. He continued to ease his way towards them with a distinct limp, offering none of his attention to other distractions.

"Sir, did you need assistance?" Chalmers asked again as she began to back away.

Matt followed suit, standing from the chair and taking a few steps back. The man was still a good twenty five feet away but Matt decided to err on the side of caution. Dead or not dead, this man surely had the virus and therefore posed a threat. He cast a glance over at Chalmers before subtlety trying to read the man's mind. Like Estelle, this man's brain held no thoughts. He wasn't in pain, he wasn't looking for help. He was just a body, moving of its own accord. "Holly, get your gun out." When she complied, Matt addressed the approaching man. "Sir, don't come any closer. If you do, Officer Chalmers _will _shoot you. Do you understand me?"

The man continued to approach at an increasingly rapid pace, like an athlete to the finish line. As the goal came closer, motivation grew.

"Do you understand me?" Matt repeated, offering the man ample warning to the consequences of his actions. When he received no response of acknowledgment he turned to Holly. "Shoot him."

Chalmers raised her gun. "Sir, this is your final warning! Stop there or I'll shoot!" The man did not comply. She aimed the barrel of her pistol at the man's thigh and fired a single round, the sharp sound of the small explosion echoing through the empty police station. The man's leg buckled somewhat upon impact, but his pace remained the same. Chalmers cast a brief glance over her shoulder and noticed that they were running out of room to back up into.

"Shoot him again!" Matt ordered, growing increasingly frantic. There was no cry of pain at the impact of the bullet. It was as if the man didn't even notice he had been shot. Still, Matt balked at the final step of shooting the man in the head.

Chalmers fired off another round. This time the bullet made a hole in the mans shoulder, sending small chunks of gray flesh and clumpy blood flying into the air. "Parkman, what the fuck!" She was growing frantic now, her thoughts becoming loose and flighty. He could tell that her nerve was flaking.

Sensing his goal was only moments away, the man bared his teeth in a form of snarl and limped forward quickly. The gurgling in his throat transforming into a more threatening noise, like a lion about to make the final pounce on his prey.

"Shoot him in the head!" Matt bellowed.

"I can't! I can't, Parkman! I don't want to kill him!"

"Holly, shoot him!"

"Parkman, I can't!"

The man closed the gap between them with surprising quickness, his fingers grasping for Matt's jacket. Matt cast Holly a final, desperate look. _'Shoot him in the head!' _

Mohinder paced the apartment frantically, his hand covering his mouth with worry. In his other hand, Matt's pistol rested uncomfortably in his palm.

"Why hasn't Matt called yet?" Molly chirped from the kitchen table.

He turned towards her sharply, as if surprised by her presence. Matt had said he would call as soon as he arrived at the station, just to let them know that he was safe. That was nearly two full hours ago and Mohinder was desperately worried. The information and images on the news had grown increasingly dire in those two hours. The city had been placed under quarantine with only a few select locations available for citizen release. The footage had shown each of those locations to be hopelessly crowded. He had wanted to scoop Molly up and take her away from this situation immediately, but she had insisted on waiting for Matt. Now Mohinder was worried that Matt might never return.

"Mohinder?"

Mohinder turned away from his thoughts and offered Molly a tight smile. "I'm sure things are busy at the station right now, sweetheart. He'll call us when he has a chance."

"What if he doesn't call?"

"I'm sure he will," Mohinder lied, "but if he doesn't..." He released a heavy sigh and walked into the kitchen, taking Molly's hands in his own, and squatted down to her level. He truly hated what he was about to say, but he knew it to be necessary. "Molly, if he doesn't call in the next hour, then I'm afraid we will have to leave the city without him."

"Leave him behind?" Molly gasped, withdrawing her hands from his. "We can't leave him behind! Matt would never leave _us _behind!"

"I know that, Molly." He cupped her face in one of his hands. "But we have to be open to the possibility that Matt may not be able to accompany us out of the city. He could be hurt and need medical attention. I don't know. What I do know is that he would want us safe, no matter what. We can wait for him for no longer than an hour more, but then we have to go. Okay?"

"Can't we just call him?" Molly pleaded, tears already beginning to well in her eyes. Mohinder could only imagine what was going through her mind. Fear, confusion, a looming sense of betrayal. Things no eleven year old girl should be feeling.

"I've tried calling. It seems as though the number is out of service at the moment."

"I can find him! I can see where he is and if he's hurt!"

Mohinder shook his head softly, a gentle denial of permission. He feared what Molly might see if she looked for Matt and he had been injured somehow. He didn't want her to look for Matt and end up finding a corpse. "Let's just wait a while longer. For now, I want you to finish your math equations."

Molly scowled and turned back to the page before her. "I can't believe you're making me to math right now. I'm pretty sure school is going to be canceled tomorrow. They might be canceled for the rest of the year, even."

"Well, then you are going to be the smartest pupil when school starts again, aren't you?" Truth be told, Mohinder didn't care much about her math abilities at the moment. He just wanted her to have a distraction so he could begin planning their escape from New York City in peace. Matt was a good and dear friend to Mohinder, but he couldn't wait much longer for him to return. Mohinder began to pace the living room again, casting occasional anxious glances at the phone.

Going unnoticed behind him on the television screen, a splash of blood suddenly obscured one of the news cameras stationed at the Brooklyn Bridge evacuation point.


End file.
